I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues
by Validor
Summary: High school students Quatre and Trowa are in love. Watch them angst.


I Guess That's Why They Call It the Blues  
  
Quatre took one last shot at the goal and grinned as it flew past the goalie and hit the back of the net. Hopefully the coach had seen that one. Maybe he'd get more playing time next game. He was good, but people tended to underestimate him because of his appearance and gentle personality. He could kick butt, he knew he could, if he could remember that winning was important, not being nice to the other team. Next game, he promised himself, next game will be different. Aggression!  
  
He jogged over to the side of the field and gratefully accepted a water bottle from Trowa, who was still in his school uniform because he had no cheerleading practice that day.   
  
"Nice shot," Trowa said.  
  
"Thanks!" Quatre took a deep breath and went back to the water. Trowa watched in admiration. He'd never seen anybody chug like that, not even at Duo's last keg party…which had been at Heero's house and which Quatre had not been invited to.  
  
"Ready to go?" he asked. Quatre nodded. They walked to Trowa's car.  
  
**^^**  
  
Quatre's house was huge. The spiral staircase was huge, the TV's were huge, Quatre's room was huge…His closet was bigger than Trowa's room. Despite all that, Trowa managed to look unimpressed each time he visited. Quatre didn't know what he thought about it, only that Trowa always headed straight for his video game collection. Which was huge.  
  
While Trowa was absorbed in Oni, Quatre took a much-needed shower. It felt so good to be clean after all that sweating at practice. As he shampooed his shaggy blond hair (one of his better features, he liked to think), he entertained the thought of striding into his room naked, saying casually, "I forgot my clothes," and watching Trowa's expression. Quatre giggled. Right. He would never, ever have the courage to do that. Trowa probably wouldn't care anyway. Quatre knew he was not likely to drive anyone mad with desire, much less the stoic Trowa, but it would be interesting.  
  
He stepped out of the shower and started drying off. Now where are my clothes? he wondered.  
  
He looked all over his bedroom-sized bathroom, but they just weren't there.  
  
"Crap!" he said in his soft and oh-so-cute-innocent voice. He opened the door just enough to peek out. "Trowa?"  
  
"Hm?" Trowa did not look away from his game.  
  
"I, um, forgot my clothes. Um, could you, um, never mind, just, um, don't look, okay?" Trowa turned around to answer.  
  
"Look, Quatre, you've got a towel, right?"   
  
"I said don't turn around!"  
  
"Okay, sorry! Do you want me to hand your clothes to you through the door?"  
  
"No, you don't know where they are." And I don't want you looking through my underwear! "Ready?"  
  
"Yeah." The door creaked open and Quatre, clutching a towel around his torso, crept into the room. "Y'know, it's nothing I haven't seen before. You do have a towel and it's not like I've never seen your ankles before."   
  
"Accidents happen!" said Quatre lightly, while his face turned a very deep shade of red. Finally, he had collected all of his clothes and he crept back into the bathroom and shut the door. Trowa turned around, smiled a little, and went back to Oni. He wondered how Quatre had ever made it through gym class. When Quatre, fully clothed, emerged once again, they were ready to go to the movies.  
  
**^^**  
  
"Um, Trowa? I have something to tell you." They were on their way to the movie theater in Trowa's car.  
  
"Yes?" Trowa glanced at him with a small smile and Quatre melted.  
  
"Nothing. Never mind." He rested his head on his hand and looked out the window. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the ride, and they arrived at the movie and bought their tickets without incident.   
  
They saw many people they knew, and Quatre would smile and say "Hi." The other kids would pretend they hadn't heard them or smile and look away quickly. Trowa ignored everyone, but secretly wondered how Quatre took it without going crazy. He was so kind, how could anyone not love him?  
  
Trowa tried to put his arm around him, but Quatre shrugged it off and backed away.   
  
"Don't do that!" he said.  
  
"Quatre…"  
  
"Please! We can't…We're just friends." Quatre looked at the floor and kept walking.   
  
"You've never acted like this before. What happened? Did I do something?"  
  
"It's not you." Quatre sniffed and Trowa saw tears slide down his cheeks. "Let's just watch the movie, okay?"  
  
They walked into the darkened theater and took seats towards the back. Trowa pushed up the armrest between them and moved closer to Quatre to comfort him, but again Quatre pushed him away.  
  
"What? Nobody can see us, and even if they could, they wouldn't care."  
  
"It's not that! Do you really believe I care what they think? Even if all of them were…Even if all of them were gay, it wouldn't matter. I only care about you and me." Quatre had to stop talking because he knew he would start sobbing. Trowa didn't say anything for a moment. Neither of them had ever said gay in conversation with each other. It just didn't have anything to do with their relationship.  
  
"Then what's the matter?" he asked quietly.  
  
"It's a sin," Quatre managed to say. "We'll go to hell."  
  
Trowa was angry now. "Nobody's going to hell. Who told you that?"  
  
"Please shut up! No, don't touch me! I'm fine. I'm sorry, Trowa, I'm sorry!" Quatre covered his face with his hands and tried not to sob loudly. Trowa, helpless to comfort him with words or actions, sat motionless. He'd never been so confused, so angry and sad.  
  
"We need to talk," he said.   
  
"But people are" (sob) "trying to watch the movie!"  
  
"Then let's go." Trowa walked out and Quatre, still crying, followed. They made their rather conspicuous way through the main entrance and out into the parking lot behind the theater.  
  
"What's wrong."  
  
Quatre collapsed onto the curb and let himself cry. "Everything's wrong!" Trowa sat down next to him. "I love you but I know I'm not supposed to! It's wrong!"  
  
"Who told you that?" Trowa grabbed his shoulders tightly.  
  
"No one told me, I just know! I only want to save you, Trowa! I already love you too much, but you have to promise me you'll never love me!"  
  
"I can't promise you that." Trowa's hand left Quatre's shoulder and slid up his face until his fingers were entangled in his blond hair. "I've loved you ever since the moment I first saw you." He kissed the tears on his cheeks more fiercely than they had ever kissed before.  
  
"Stop. Please." Trowa started crying too and he rested his head on Quatre's shoulder.  
  
"You're serious, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't even tell my father I was going out tonight."  
  
"You told him about us?"  
  
"Everybody knows, Trowa! They can see it when we're together. And we can't be together anymore." Quatre pushed him away.  
  
"I can't believe you're serious."  
  
"Neither can I." It was just a whisper. "Just forget about me, Trowa. I'll be happy if you find someone else…I don't want you on my conscience, I couldn't stand it."  
  
They sat on the ground and cried, although Trowa was more discreet about it.  
  
"You need a ride home?" he asked.  
  
Quatre sniffed. "That's okay. I can call the chauffeur on my cell phone." Trowa waited with him until Quatre was safely in the BMW, and then he drove back to his sister's house alone.  
  
**^^**   
  
Trowa was on his stomach on the couch in front of the TV. He sighed. God, why did it have to be like this? Why did Quatre have to feel guilty about everything? It wasn't fair!  
  
"Trowa?" Catherine came in from the kitchen. "Are you okay?"   
  
He looked up at her. "Have you ever been in love?"  
  
"Well…" He sat up to make room for her on the couch. "There've been times when I thought I was in love."  
  
"Why didn't it ever work out?"  
  
"I guess I just haven't met the right person yet."  
  
"Did you realize that after you broke up?"  
  
"Sometimes. Sometimes we broke up because we realized it wasn't working."  
  
"How long did it take before you knew you were wrong?"  
  
She smiled at him. "Do you want some ice cream?" He nodded. When she got back she handed him the bowl of chocolate ice cream and laid his head on her shoulder. "What happened?"  
  
"I think…I think his dad has been talking to him. We broke up." Trowa pushed the ice cream around with his spoon but didn't eat any.   
  
"Catherine. Does it bother you that I'm gay?"  
  
"No, it doesn't bother me. I worry about you, I worry that other people will give you a hard time, but I know you're a good person and I love you. I worry that people will hurt you."  
  
"I can take care of myself."  
  
She smiled. "I know. I mean emotionally. You've been through a lot. What with being all alone in the world until you found me again and you don't talk much so I don't always know what you're thinking." She squeezed his shoulder.  
  
"Sorry." He continued to play with the ice cream.   
  
"It's okay, little brother. I love you."  
  
"Thanks, Cathy. I love you too." He glanced up at her briefly and then looked back down. Catherine sighed. He never showed any expression. She wondered if that changed when he was around Quatre. It was a crime, really. Quatre had been good for him.  
  
"They want to change him. He's such a good person. I love him."  
  
**^^**  
  
The next Monday at school went by slowly. Quatre could barely pay attention in his classes and he even had trouble laughing at Duo's jokes. He felt tired and listless, and he decided that he really didn't care about his grades today. He wasn't sure if he was avoiding Trowa, or if Trowa was avoiding him. He wondered if anybody noticed it, or if anybody else noticed that Trowa seemed even quieter today than usual. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but Trowa looked as melancholy as he felt. Quatre didn't want to risk talking to him and find out for sure. If he could pretend that Trowa was okay, he could ignore his own feelings and pretend to be happy. The blue sky and puffy clouds outside the chemistry classroom were much more bright and interesting. Just watching them float by, so happy…  
  
"Psst! Hey! Quatre!" Duo poked him in the shoulder.   
  
"Hm?" Quatre blinked and turned to his friend. "What?"  
  
"Hey, what's up with you?" Duo whispered. "You haven't even answered one question today, and you didn't say anything at lunch. You wanna tell me somethin'? You an' Trowa havin' a fight? Ya mad at me? Just tell me if you are, I won't get upset…"  
  
Quatre gave his loquacious friend a small smile. "It's not you." Then his expression changed and he frowned. "What do you mean, are Trowa and I having a fight?"  
  
"Well, I mean, he keeps lookin' like he wants to talk to you, and you keep not lookin' at him, and he looks mad and you look sad and…"  
  
"So you just assume there's something wrong between Trowa and me? Like we have to be the happy perfect couple and everything? Because we're not a couple."  
  
"Oh. I'm sorry, man. I was just thinkin', ya know, are ya sure you're okay?"  
  
"Duo!" The teacher's voice broke in on their conversation. "You are supposed to be working on your own! This is the top level of students and you are expected…"  
  
Quatre sighed. How many times had he heard that speech? "As my son and the heir to the family legacy, certain things are expected of you…" "You're so smart, Quatre, I know you'll get all A's…" "Quatre, you're so nice. You'll do this for me, won't you?" "But you're a boy, you're supposed to be rude and perverted and tough. What's wrong with you?" He gritted his teeth and snapped his pencil in half. Duo looked worried, but Quatre didn't pay any attention to him. Stupid, stupid world. Why wouldn't everyone just leave him alone? They didn't need to worry about him, couldn't he just be wrong all by himself? They were just wasting their time.  
  
Finally the last bell rang. Quatre made his way through the crowded halls and gathered his books. Stupid people. But that was a lie, he knew. He didn't deserve to be here with them. They were too good for him. How could he ever have let Trowa kiss him in the first place, when he knew that it was wrong and he'd have to end it sooner or later? How could he have been so selfish? But…But Trowa's kisses had made him so happy, and wasn't that what everyone wanted, to be happy? Why couldn't he have that? But then again, would it be so hard to give up kisses and be content with just being in Trowa's company? What was the difference anyway? Quatre sighed. He knew the difference. There was something about being close to Trowa, holding his hand, or even being across the room from him and knowing that he could just walk over touch him, because they were a couple. It was just so comfortable. He wondered how long it would be before his heart stopped breaking every time he saw Trowa. How long it would be before he felt so comfortable with someone else. Dammit, he was 17, would every relationship hurt like this?   
  
He left school before Trowa could get a chance to talk to him. He didn't deserve Trowa, either. When he got home, he told the servants he didn't feel well and retreated to his room.  
  
**^^**  
  
Iria knocked on Quatre's door. "Quatre?" she called. "It's Iria. Can I come in?"  
  
"Um, yeah. Sure, come on in."  
  
She opened the door to see Quatre propped up in his bed. He was eating ice cream straight from the carton and watching Gone with the Wind with all the lights off.  
  
"Quatre? I was told that you weren't feeling well." She sat on the edge of his bed.  
  
"Yeah. I'm okay, really, I'm just…a little stressed, I guess. Nothing serious." He kept his eyes on the movie.  
  
"Are you sure? Father was a little worried about you over the weekend. I think he feels bad about how he yelled at you on Friday night."  
  
"Oh, I understand. I shouldn't have gone out without asking him first. He shouldn't worry. He does what he needs to do. Right?" As he asked he turned to her with anxiety in his large blue-green eyes. "I mean, he must have a good reason for everything he does?"  
  
"Yes, I'm sure."  
  
Quatre sighed. Then started and said, "Oh, I'm sorry! Would you like some ice cream? I can go get you some, we've got some more downstairs."  
  
Iria smiled. "No thank you, Quatre. I'm fine."  
  
"Okay." He smiled too, and Iria reflected that he looked so cute with ice cream on his lip. When Quatre had been born, or rather when Father had brought him home from the lab, all 29 sisters had made such a fuss over him. Their only little brother. Of course, some of them had already had their own children, but Quatre was special. He would be in charge of Winner Corporations when Father was ready to retire. Iria felt sorry for him. No doubt Quatre could do anything he tried to do, but he was not the type of person you would imagine bossing people around and worrying about how to cut budgets and increase profits. Oh well, maybe he would change the business world for the better.  
  
There was a knock at the door. Quatre and Iria heard a deep voice say, "Quatre, it's me."  
  
Quatre fumbled for the remote and turned the TV off. "Just a minute, Father!" he yelled. He shoved the ice cream under his bed and jumped up. Iria turned the lights back on wiped the ice cream off of Quatre's lip. "Thanks!" he whispered as the door opened.  
  
In walked Quatre's dad, a tall man with thick brown hair. He was followed by a shorter man whom Quatre had never seen before.  
  
"Quatre! Erm, how was school today?" his father asked.  
  
"It was fine, thank you, sir. How was your day?"  
  
"Eh-hm. Fine. Iria…"  
  
"Yes, I think I have something to do. Excuse me." She nodded to the stranger and left.  
  
"Quatre. This is Dr. Smith. He's, um, he's here to talk to you. Well, I'll let you two talk. Good-bye, Doctor, and thank you for coming."  
  
"No trouble at all, Mr. Winner!" Dr. Smith closed the door after him, and tuned to Quatre.  
  
"Hi, Quatre!" he said cheerfully.  
  
"Hello." 'This is just peachy-keen,' thought Quatre. 'I just love psychiatrists.' "Can I get you anything? Would you like to sit down?"  
  
"I'll sit right here if that's okay." The doctor sat in the swivel chair at Quatre's desk.   
  
"Sure." Quatre took a seat, Indian-style, on his bed. "How are you?"  
  
"I'm fine. How are you?"  
  
"Fine, thank you."  
  
"Do you know why I'm here, Quatre?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Um…Look, I don't really want to talk about it, okay? You can leave if you want to. You'll still get paid."  
  
"It's not the money I'm worried about. I'm here to help you. I'm here to help you understand your feelings and work through them. Now, why do you think your father invited me here?" Dr. Smith leaned back and rested his chin on his hands.  
  
"Because I'm in love with Trowa?"  
  
"In love? What makes you think you're in love?"  
  
"Um, because I am? Look, you people always say to just talk about your problems, so fine, I'm gonna talk. I am so sick of people. They don't understand and I don't know why I have to be any different from them. I have a few friends, and besides them, I have no idea how to relate to people my own age. I always thought I was a nice person, but I just can't stand people anymore! I don't want to feel like that, I don't want to be resentful!"  
  
"That's okay," said Dr. Smith. "I can help you, if you want to be helped."  
  
"I'm sorry," said Quatre. "It's just been a really weird couple of days."  
  
The doctor smiled. "That's okay. I think we've made progress already. Are you ready to make a change in yourself, Quatre?"  
  
"I dunno. I kindof like me."  
  
"You'll still be you. You'll always be you. I'm just here to help you be yourself in the best way."  
  
Quatre picked at the comforter on his bed. After a moment he said, "And how do I do that?"  
  
"How do you think?"  
  
"I don't know. Get new friends, I guess. Try harder to be the person my father wants me to be."  
  
"Quatre, it's not like that at all. This is to help you. Because your father cares for you very much."  
  
"Yes." There was a pause. "I broke up with Trowa, you know. I explained things to him, so we really don't need to do this."  
  
"I think you do, Quatre," the doctor said gently.   
  
Quatre breathed slowly. "Okay," he said. "Thank you, sir. I'm very sorry you had to waste your time with this. I'll try not to let it happen again."  
  
"It's no problem. I've enjoyed talking to you."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Quatre closed the door behind him. He stood for a moment in thought, and then went over to his piano (of course he has a piano in his room). He played a song that shouldn't have made him think of Trowa at all.  
  
***  
  
Quatre stepped off the bus and walked down the street to the theatre. He wasn't sure if Trowa would care that he was leaving, or if he would even talk to him. He hated this. The worst was wondering if Trowa felt as awful as he did. As soon as the thought entered his mind, that Trowa might be miserable, all because of him, he started crying. He'd done a lot of sighing in the past few days, and he realized that he was acting exactly like a girl in a cheesy romance movie. It must be love.  
  
He'd been to the theatre a few times before, and some people waved as he walked in. The people who worked there treated each other like family, and by now that family included Quatre as well. He hoped that they didn't know what he had done to Trowa. No human would ever be nice to him if they knew.   
  
'God, how could I?' he thought. 'I knew it was wrong, but I was weak. I led Trowa on. He should hate me, but, God, I hope he doesn't. I couldn't stand it.'  
  
He considered going back home, but the magnitude of his apprehension only reinforced his dedication to going through with the meeting. Or, rather, the un-meeting. Maybe this would be the last time they talked as friends.  
  
"Hello, Quatre! Are you looking for Trowa?" The manager of the theatre called out to him from behind the desk, and Quatre nodded. "He's backstage painting some scenery."  
  
"Thank you, sir!" Quatre waved and walked to the stage door. He paused for a moment, offered a quick prayer asking Allah to please make sure no one else was backstage, took a deep breath, and walked in.  
  
Trowa was kneeling in front of a piece of half-painted scenery. Quatre might have noticed that he was painting a green forest, but he was busy noticing that Trowa was shirtless.   
  
"Um…"  
  
Trowa looked at him over his shoulder. "Hi."  
  
'His eyes are so green!' "Hi." Quatre blushed and looked at the ground. "Trowa—" He looked up and couldn't say anything else.  
  
"Sit down. Help?" He handed Quatre a paint brush.   
  
"Sure. Thanks. Um, you have a part in this play?"  
  
"Nope. Still just the props guy."  
  
"I think you'd be great as one of those gangsters. You know, from the 1920's."  
  
Trowa almost laughed. "We don't have many plays like that."  
  
"It's too bad. You would be so cool in a suit and a fedora, with a machine gun."  
  
They painted for a while.   
  
"I'm sorry, Trowa." Quatre kept his eyes on the scenery. "I didn't mean to hurt you."  
  
"Don't apologize. I don't want you to feel bad about anything."  
  
"Just please tell me that you're okay, because I really love you—" Quatre stopped suddenly because he hadn't meant for that last part to come out. "Love" was not a word to be taken lightly, and even though he knew he was in love with Trowa, he wasn't sure if Trowa knew it. He didn't know if admitting his love would make Trowa feel better or just make things worse. "I don't want you to think I've been lying to you."  
  
"I just don't understand why we can't be together. Don't your father and your God want you to be happy?"  
  
"Yes, but, I don't know. Look, I'm sure it's better in the long run. And it's not like we can't be friends. You would still want to talk to me, right? I understand if you don't." Quatre started crying.  
  
"I could never be mad at you, and I will always want to be your friend. No matter what."  
  
"I'm sorry I'm crying. I didn't mean to."  
  
"It's okay, Quatre. It's okay." Trowa put his arms around him.  
  
"I came to say good-bye."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"We're moving. My family. The headquarters of the Winner Corporation is moving to Europe, and we're going with it. Tomorrow." Quatre kept still. It was like Trowa's arms had been specially made to fit around his shoulders, and for a few minutes, he was going to pretend he didn't know any better.  
  
"Because of us?"  
  
"There are lots of good reasons." Quatre sighed. "My father would do anything for me."  
  
"I'll visit. I'll call. I'll e-mail you every day."  
  
"Is that what you want, Trowa? Or would it be easier to just…to just forget about me? I don't want you to, but if you have to…"  
  
"I couldn't live without you. It doesn't matter if I can never hold you again, as long as I can have you in my life somehow."  
  
A few minutes later, Quatre said, "I should go."  
  
Trowa looked at his hand, intertwined with Quatre's, their fingertips conducting a longing they lacked the experience to express. "Before you go…one last kiss?" Quatre turned his head and carefully leaned closer. He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, but it didn't matter. They kissed, and then he stood up to leave.  
  
"Good-bye."  
  
"Good-bye."  
  
"Take care, Trowa. OK?"  
  
"Don't worry. You take care too."  
  
"Good-bye!" He left.  
  
***  
  
Quatre called him three times. The first time, he left a message on Trowa's answering machine, leaving his new phone number and address. The second time Trowa answered but said it was a bad time and he would call back later. He didn't. Quatre called again, and they talked for a little while, about Quatre's new school and how their old friends were getting along, but then Trowa had to go. They never spoke again.  
  
It was very difficult at first. Quatre didn't know if Trowa had really never cared, or if he was mad, or if he had just decided it would be easier to stop reminding himself of it. For months, Quatre wrote dark poems at 3 a.m. and cried every time he drove past a theatre. He knew he was being stupid, but it was his first heartbreak, and damnit, he was going to wring all the melancholy from it that he could. He felt that it would be an offense to the memory of all the good that Trowa had been for him if he didn't mourn him properly.  
  
Years passed and he grew up. He looked back and shook his head at how childish he had been, but only because he had forgotten his confusion and hope and the despair of sudden loneliness and the pain of hurting someone else and the pain of an unscarred heart.  
  
Author's Note:  
  
Sorry. This story originally started out as one of my "in my head only" stories, and in the end Quatre and Trowa ran away and went to live out West and Quatre got jobs at WalMart and a little restaurant and Trowa worked on a ranch. So if you like that better, go for it, and have fun with your happy little life. E-mail me if you would like me to write the alternative, happier version.  
  
I feel like a little Shinigami should pop up and try to steal my soul. "Oh, look, it's Tokyo Tower!" You should all cheer up now. 


End file.
